It Must Have Been Love
by Laily
Summary: Once upon a time, nothing could come between Stephen Strange and Loki Odinson. But their love was doomed from the start. Warning: Implied mpreg.


In hindsight, it should have been very clear who had been the first to pull away. The lines, spoken or unspoken, could have been something like

( _It's not you, it's me _) or

( _you deserve someone better _)

which would not have been entirely untruthful according to Stephen's delusional self back then, but as far as Midgardian clichés went, Loki must not have come across any of them in any of his past lives. The look of utter devastation on Loki's face that day haunted his sleep and every waking moment for years after, for there was little that did not remind him of Loki.

Every dusty bookshop. Every eclectic curio shop. Every artisan café.

In any country.

Even the scent of coffee reminded him of what they once had.

Forcing himself to tamper with his cup of joe in the morning (be it with milk or caramel syrup or vanilla) did nothing to erase the memory of long walks shared in the wee hours of the morning down avenues where the only thing open were late night coffee joints.

Tea was all Stephen would drink now. Neither made much difference with his tremor anyway.

He wished he had tea now. Sitting out here on this rock, whatever hot drink he made would not stay hot for long. And if he started making tea now, he feared he would not stop.

How many cups would he have drunk before it finally hit him that Loki was not coming?

No. Stephen refused to entertain the thought.

Granted, there was no agreement, no contract. No obligation for either party to meet.

It just seemed like a sound plan at the time, an unspoken pact.

Once every ten years. Once every ten human years should be enough to not let their memories of each other fade.

_"Can't have you forgetting how I look like now, can we?" Loki had said._

_"I don't think that's possible," Stephen had replied. _

He did not understand the look of pure pain on Loki's face back then. It took him decades before he finally began to.

He could sense the raw power shift the atmosphere around him in dazzling swirls of celestial energy as the air stirred with the on-coming arrival. The magic of the Elders was scentless, a sign of true power. It left no residue, no calling card, no trail.

Loki was here.

Stephen tried not to let his excitement show as he turned his head slowly.

And his smile faltered slightly at the sight of the bundle in Loki's arms.

"What is her name?"

"Va Nee," Loki said softly.

Stephen raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"I didn't name her," Loki said drily.

"She is beautiful," Stephen murmured.

Loki swallowed the sincerity in Stephen's voice with an emotionless, "Yes, she is."

"Have you been well?" Loki asked.

"As well as can be expected for an old man," Stephen said easily.

Loki laughed softly. "What is age but a number, isn't that what you used to say?"

"I think that's something all age-discordant couples say."

Loki snorted. "Don't I know it. Imagine being married to one of the oldest sentient beings in all the cosmos."

Stephen's stomach lurched. _Married?_

Either Stephen was becoming easier to read, or Loki had grown more adept at reading his mind,

"I will not be coming here anymore, Stephen."

Stephen stopped breathing.

Loki's long black hair fell over the side of his face in a cascade of bejewelled tresses as he looked down at his slumbering daughter in his lap.

"Through her, En Dwi has pledged himself to me. And thus, I must to him be true."

He traced her pale blue cheek, catching the soft strands of silver hair in between his fingers. "I will not subject her to…this."

_This? _

What would one call this? A tryst? A betrayal?

_Of whose love?_ A small voice in his head asked. It sounded very much like Loki of long ago. The Loki who did not have quite so many silver streaks in his hair, the Loki whose eyes still held a glimmer of mischief behind every word, every action

_Every kiss_

"I understand," Stephen said numbly.

Loki nodded abruptly.

"But before I go, I simply need to know." Tears clung to his lashes like snowdrops.

Stephen ached to reach up and thumb them away as he once did. What he had once done freely and at liberty he could no longer do.

It was forbidden.

"Shoot," for monosyllables seemed to be the only thing Stephen could manage right now. There was a pain in his heart that was robbing him of all breath, all faculty of speech -

"Why?" Loki whispered. It was a pain shared. They had once shared everything, after all.

_Why did you let me go?_

Stephen could not look away, as painful as it was. Not when he knew he would never see the brilliance of Loki's eyes again. In this lifetime, at least.

_Why did you not fight for me?_

Loki's green eyes begged for an answer.

So Stephen must give him one.

"I did not see a future together."

"So what, I was just a fleeting fancy?" Loki's tears dried just as his lips curled. "A fling?"

"Must have been," Stephen mumbled.

Loki gathered his sleeping daughter in his arms. From this angle, Va Nee had Loki's high forehead and thin-lined lips.

Kissable lips. Stephen could attest to how they tasted. He had been kissing them just last night in one of his long recurring dreams.

Loki towered over him, tall and resplendent.

He looked as beautiful as ever. "Goodbye, Second-Rate."

It must have been madness, to let such a vision go, for no one but Stephen Strange could worship Loki as reverently and as deeply as he did.

"See you around, Stabby."

No. Madness was claiming Loki for his own when all he could see in their future, all their futures, was nothing but death and destruction.

Loki gave him one last, sad smile –

So be it. Stephen would rather Loki smiled, than lay cold and lifeless on the Sanctum floor, knifed in the heart with his own dagger.

In another vision, it was by a stray bullet, friendly fire.

In another, it was childbirth. A beautiful girl, with Loki's black hair, and Stephen's high cheekbones. A princess who would grow up not knowing her mother. She would not have known much of her absent father either.

A soft kiss brushed against his temple. The scent of sandalwood lingered, familiar and comforting, like a lover's embrace.

And then Loki was gone.

Stephen sat there for hours, looking out into the bay, at Mont Saint-Michel in the distance. The thousand-something-year-old monastery stood solemn and alone on its throne, a tidal island only reachable by road at low-tide.

Of course, it had not mattered to Loki then, who made Stephen brave the icy waters of winter and race him. It seemed so long ago now.

It must have been a dream.

_It must have been love._

Stephen's heart may have crumbled into flakes of ash but at least it had once known love.

Yeah...it was love alright. Always had been.

Stephen raised his face to the sky. Let it forever be a secret.

Just like how Loki was going to live forever, happy and healthy and safe, with a loving husband and a horde of children, all beloved, all beautiful.

_"Goodbye, Loki."_


End file.
